OMAMMA dear, just listen!
I ran away, you know;
I saw the grasses glisten,
A-bowing to me so.
The clovers shook their pink heads too—
You wouldn't care I ran away,
If how they did you only knew!
And I was dressed as much as they—
They didn't mind a bit—and Oh,
I saw there, fastened to the grass
With little shiny ropes of glass.
A spider's web! Mamma, you know
You've always said that spiders ate
For breakfast little frightened flies,
For which they long had laid in wait,
A-watching with their cruel eyes—
0127m
Well, mamma, in that spider's web-
Somebody told it wrong to you—
There wasn't any fly at all!
Mamma, you will believe it's true;
Everything for breakfast there
Was clover-tops and drops of dew!"
IF we, my deary, were butterflies, with pur-
ple winglets and golden eyes,
We would not adore the roses alway, and no-
body else, on a sunny day.
If we, my baby, were butterflies, with purple
winglets and golden eyes,
Far away, far away, over land or sea, we would
come to the honey we love in thee.
COME, "Silvertongue," and hear the tale
Of that little girl of yore,
9129Original Size
Who sat up in a straight-
backed chair
With her tiptoes on
the floor,
And listened to her eld-
ers,
Like a little voiceless
bird:
Dear little model las-
sie,
Who was seen, but
never heard.
ONANNY, my dear little Nanny! and
where have you been to-day?
Y our little coat's old, and the wind blows cold,
and where have you been, I pray?"
"Dear Granny, I've been to the forest to look
for a Christmas-tree—
Santa Claus is so kind, I thought I would find
one growing there wild, maybe,
Full of cakes, with a doll, and candy, and all
for a wee little body like me."
NOW hang up your sunbonnet, Marthy,
And get out your patchwork square,
And sit down here and sew for a while
In your little rocking-chair,
And hear me tell you a story
Of a little girl I knew,
Who made a whole quilt of patchwork
When she wasn't as big as you."
DOLLY had a silken fan,
Crimson, with a feather border,
And she—Oh! so airily—
Used to sway it from and toward her.
Dolly, seated in her pew,
Many wondering eyes were scanning;
Tilting up her dainty chin
Toward the parson, softly fanning.
Every little girl in church,
—Pity 'tis to tell such folly—
While the parson preached and prayed,
Tried to fan herself like Dolly!
WHO is that young and gentle dame who
stands in yonder gilded frame,
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Clad in a simple muslin gown whose 'broi-
dered frills hang limply down,
Blue ribbons in her yellow
curls, around her neck a string of pearls—
Her
eyes
blue stars in
ancient gloom, a-seeking you all o'er the room,
As if to call sweet memories to her?—
My grandmother, before I knew her.
PAST the lavender-bed and the parsley,
Close to the wall where the sweet-brier
blows,
Green grows the caraway Grandma planted,
Though scarce one lover to-day it knows.
When dear old Grandma her "meetin' bun-
nit"
Had carefully tied, on the Sabbath Day,
She always put in her best-gown pocket
A generous handful of caraway.
For the dear old soul would grow a-weary
To sit so long in the cushionless pew;
And oft the parson's doctrinal sermon
Would trouble her tender feelings too
And when she had heard so much "election"
That her heart for the others began to bleed,
0135m
She sensed the better God's love behind it
By eating a bit of her "meetin' seed."
Solemn and mild upraised to the parson
Was her dear old face on the Sabbath Day;
She drank the sweet there was in the sermon
—The bitter she flavored with caraway.
Though caraway is not fair to look at,
Though you may not fancy its taste indeed,
Yet still it shall grow there down in the garden
Because it was Grandma's "meetin' seed."
TWO little birdies all in blue
Airily flitted the garden thro'.
(Pink blows the brier in summer-weather. )
And they could whistle a rondel true
Which all of the neighbors loved and knew
(Pink blows the brier in summer-weather.)
Now through the garden the north wind
goes,
And the bush is bent to the ground with
snows.
(Black turns the brier in winter-weather.)
Where are the little blue birds—who knows?
And where, oh where! is the pink brier-rose?
(Ahy sweet things come and depart together!)
THE draggled lilies were beaten down
As if by a prancing hoof;
The roses swayed, and the warm rain came,
Like the patter of pearls, on the roof.
Up in the garret the darling sat
In her little gown of blue,
With her lily cheeks and her rosebud lips,
And dreamed as she loved to do.
Bundles of herbs from the rafters hung;
There was many a quaint old chest,
A cradle of oak, and a spinning-wheel,
In the chimney a swallow's nest.
The darling she sat in a straight-backed chair,
With her face 'gainst the window-pane,
Her little hands folded across her lap,
And she builded her Castle in Spain.
0139m
And never a magic palace rose,
In the days of the Moorish kings,
As fair as the Castle the darling built
From her sweet imaginings.
Rosy and green were the walls, like the
heart
Of a murmuring ocean-shell;
There were jewelled spires, and a slender
tower
With a swinging silver bell.
And up to the gold-hasped door there ran,
On a carven ivory stair,
The darling herself in rosy silk,
With pearls in her yellow hair.
Then the beautiful door swung open wide,
And she entered a marble hall
Where marble nymphs, with golden lamps,
Stood ranged against the wall.
0141m
The darling danced like a puff o' down
Over the marble floor,
And she gleefully sped from hall to hall,
And opened each golden door;
And chambers she found whose lofty walls
With jewels were all acrust,
With windows of pearl, and ivory floors
Scattered over with diamond-dust.
And oft up a staircase rail she saw
A flowering garland twist,
With ruby lilies, and roses of gold,
And myrtle of amethyst.
(The south wind blew; on the garret-roof
Fell faster the summer rain;)
A wonderful garden the darling found
Around the Castle in Spain:
Apple-branches all white with flowers,
A hive of stingless bees,
Robins, with nests of woven gold,
On the boughs of the cherry-trees;
0143m
Lilies as tall as the darling's self,
Of silver and gold and blue,
Banks of primrose and mignonette,
And violets wet with dew;
Poppies, with bees asleep in their cups,
Tulips of purple and red,
Honeysuckles and humming-birds,
Rose-branches over her head;
A velvet sward in an open space,
A fountain of tinkling pearls;
And the darling herself in a violet gown,
With hyacinths in her curls,
With her apron full of roses and pearls,
Singing a song so clear
That the bees and the yellow butterflies
Came flying round to hear.
Then the darling danced down a flowery path,
Still singing her song so sweet,
With hawthorn branches on either hand,
And crocuses under feet.
And she found a beautiful blue-eyed prince
Asleep in a thicket dim,
Caught in a bramble-rose which grew
By magic over him.
Thro' the leaves and roses she scarce could see
His head with its flaxen curls,
His rosy cheeks, and his velvet coat
With its buttons of milky pearls.
And the poor little prince, if he chanced to
stir
As he dreamed in his magic sleep,
Was pierced by a thorn of the bramble-rose—
And the darling began to weep.
Then a bright tear dropt on the bramble-rose,
And away from the prince it fell,
And he woke from his sleep—and loud and
sweet
Rang the chimes of the Castle bell!
The darling sat in her straight-backed chair,
With her soft cheeks flushing red;
And she sighed, for the prince and the castle
fair
And the roses and pearls had fled.
She wistfully looked thro' the rain-splashed
pane:
"'Tis a sad and stormy day,
And not so much as a rose have I brought
From my Castle in Spain away!"
She did not know as she sat and watched,
The darling, the pattering rain—
On her soft little cheek she carried a rose,
A rose from her Castle in Spain.
THE winds go down in peace, dear child,
The birds are circling o'er the sea;
The Dreamland gate before thee swings
With murmur soft as drowsy bee;
Now enter in, dear child, nor fear,
nor fear lest harm should come to thee.
Beyond the gate I cannot go,
But here I'll stand, nor stir away,
While, with the Dreamland children, thou
Shalt frolic till the break of day;
Fear not to enter in, dear child; for close be-
side the gate I'll stay.
And if in Dreamland's lovely woods
Some harmless giant lay in wait,
Some straggler from thy fairy tales,
He'll take to flight disconsolate—
Just say, "Away! or I will tell my mother
at the Dreamland gate!"
DEAR Nanny in her Christmas hood
With fluffy swansdown round the face,
Wearing her pretty Christmas gown
And little frill of dainty lace,
Came with her mother into church, on
Christmas Eve, with timid grace.
Dear Nanny sat there in her pew,
The Christmas-greens with music stirred,
The choir sang like a nest of larks,
But never once she caught a word.
For she was singing to herself, and hers was
all the song she heard.
"My muff, my hood!" dear Nanny sang,
"My coat, my dress, my golden ring,
My waxen doll, my picture-book,
My stocking full of everything "—
So sang the sober little maid, so softly no one
heard her sing.
O sweetly carolled forth the choir
Their Christmas songs, and never knew
How, in her little simple tune
Which after all was just as true,
A-sitting meekly down below dear little
Nanny carolled too.
NO, it won't rain to-morrow! well, what
if the crows
From that withered
old cornfield fly,
0150m
A-cawing for rain—let them caw, if they
like,
With all of that blue in the sky!
Caw away, you old birds, in your rusty black
cloaks!
I know that you're not speaking true!
There are not enough clouds in the world,
in a night
To cover up all of that blue!
SING a song of a queer little girl who lived
all alone in the green out-of-doors:
She made her a necklace of cranberries, and
a gown of the red corn-flowers,
And she made her a beautiful oak-leaf cap,
and a swing of a wild grape-vine;
And merrily-o all day she swung out of shade
into gold sunshine.
"Hark! hark! hark! the dogs do bark!
The Beggars have come to town,
Some in rags, and some in tags,
And some in velvet gowns."
Old Nursery Rhyme.
HALF frantic, down the city streets
The barking dogs they tore;
The dust it flew, and no man knew
The like of it before.
The St. Bernard's deep booming bass,
The hound's sepulchral howl,
The terrier-whelp's staccato yelp,
And the bull-dog's massive growl,
In chorus sounded thro' the town:
The windows up they went,
Thro' every space a gaping face
Inquiringly was bent.
The burgher's daughter clean forgot
Her snood of silk and pearls,
And, full of dread, popped out her head,
With its tumbled yellow curls.
A rosebud smote her on the lips:
Down went the rattling blind;
But still the maid, all curious, staid,
And slyly peeped behind.
A handsome lord, with smiling lips,
Leaned from the opposite tower;
Two withered hags, in dirt and rags,
Did from their garret glower.
The tailor left his goose to see,
And got his coat ablaze;
Three peasant maids, with shining braids,
Looked on in wild amaze.
The emperor's palace windows high,
All open they were set—
From the gray stone red jewels shone,
All gold and violet.
The ladies of the emperor's court
Leaned out with stately grace;
And each began her peacock fan
To wave before her face.
"Hark! hark! hark! the dogs do bark!"
The emperor left his throne
At the uproar, and on the floor
He dropped his emerald crown.
The dogs press round the city-gates,
The guards they wave them back;
But all in vain, with might and main
Dance round the yelping pack.
Hark! hark! hark! o'er growl and bark
There sounds a trumpet-call!
Now, rat-tat-tat; pray, what is' that
Outside the city-wall?
Airs from the Beggar's Opera
On broken fiddles played;
On pans they drum and wildly strum,
Filched from a dairy-maid.
With tenor-whine, and basso-groan,
The chorus is complete;
And, far and wide, there sounds beside
The tramp of many feet!
"Hark! hark! hark! the dogs do bark!"
Ah, what a horrid din!
The Beggars wait outside the gate,
And clamor to get in.
A herald to the emperor rode:
"Save! save the emerald crown!
For, hark! hark! hark! the dogs do bark!
The Beggars storm the town!"
The emperor donned his clinking mail,
Called out his royal guard,
The city-gate, with furious rate,
Went galloping toward.
A captain with a flag of truce
Thus parleyed on the wall:
"Why do ye wait outside the gate,
And why so loudly call?"
He spoke, then eyed them with dismay;
For o'er the valley spread
The clamoring crowd, and stern and proud
A king rode at their head.
In mothy ermine he was drest;
As sad a horse he rode,
With jaunty air, quitedébonnaire,
As ever man bestrode.
The Beggars stumped and limped behind,
With wails and whines and moans—
"Some in rags, and some in tags,
And some in velvet gowns."
A great court-beauty's splendid dress
Was there, all soiled and frayed;
The scarf, once bright, a belted knight
Wore at his accolade;
A queen's silk hose; a bishop's robe;
A monarch's funeral-pall;
The shoes, all mud, a prince-o'-the-blood
Had danced in at a ball.
The Beggars stumped and limped along,
Aping their old-time grace:
Upon the wind, flew out behind,
Ribbons of silk and lace.
A wretched company it was
Around the city gate—
The sour and sad, the sick and bad,
And all disconsolate.
But in the wretched company
There was one dainty thing:
A maiden, white as still moonlight,
Who rode beside the king.
Her hands were full of apple-flowers
Plucked in the country lanes;
Her little feet, like lilies sweet,
O'erlaced with violet veins,
Hung down beneath her tattered dress;
A bank of lilies, showed
Her shoulders fair; her dusky hair
Down to her girdle flowed.
Up spoke the haughty Beggar King:
"I want no parleying word!
Bid come to me, right speedily,
The emperor, your Lord!"
Wide open flew the city-gate!
Out rode the emperor bold;
His war-horse pranced and lightly danced
Upon his hoofs of gold.
"What wouldest thou, O Beggar King!
What wouldest thou with me?
For all the gold the town doth hold
Would not suffice for thee."
"Beholdest thou my daughter dear,
O emperor! by my side?
Though wild the rose, it sweetly grows,
And she shall be thy bride,
"And thou shalt seat her on thy throne
When thou thy troth hast pledged,
Her beauty grace with gems and lace,
And robes with ermine edged;
"Or else, on thee, O emperor!
Like locusts we'll come down,
And naught that's fair or rich or rare
We'll leave within the town!